though the occasion for them, no doubt, is new to her. A little sprinkling of the romantic and contradictory runs through it. She loves, and she hates; she encourages me to pursue her, by telling me I safely may-and yet she begs I will not. She apprehends poverty and want, yet resolves to give away her estate. To gratify whom? Why, in short, those who have been the cause of her misfortunes. And, finally, though she resolves never to be mine, yet she has some regrets at leaving me, because of the opening prospects of a reconciliation with her friends.

But never did morning dawn so tardily as this!-Neither is the chariot yet come.

A GENTLEMAN to speak with me, Dorcas? -Who can want me thus early?

Captain Tomlinson, sayest thou? Surely he must have travelled all night!-Early riser as I am, how could he think to find me up thus early?

Let but the chariot come, and he shall accompany me in it to the bottom of the hill, (though he return to town on foot-for the captain is all obliging goodness,) that I may hear all he has to say, and tell him all my mind, and lose no time.

Well, now I am satisfied that this rebellious flight will turn to my advantage, as all crushed rebellions do to the advantage of a sovereign in possession.

own!-reward thou, as it deserves, my suffering perseverance !-Succeed my endeavours to bring back to thy obedience this charming fugitive! Make her acknowledge her rashness; repent her insults; implore my forgiveness; beg to be reinstated in my favour, and that I will bury in oblivion the remembrance of her heinous offence against thee, and against me, thy faithful votary.

THE chariot at the door!-I come, I come!
I attend you, good captain-
Indeed, sir-

Pray, sir,-Civility is not ceremony.

And now, dressed like a bridegroom, my heart elated beyond that of the most desiring one, attended by a footman whom my beloved never saw, I am already at Hampstead!

LETTER CXL.

MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

Upper-Flask, Hampstead;

Friday Morning, 7 o'clock, June 9. I AM now here, and here have been this hour and half.-What an industrious spirit have I! Nobody can say that I eat the bread of idleness. I take true pains for all the pleasure I enjoy. İ cannot but admire myself strangely; for certainly, with this active soul, I should have made a very great figure in whatever station I had

The rosy-finger'd morn appears,
And from her mantle shakes her tears;
The sun, arising, mortals cheers,
And drives the rising mists away,
In promise of a glorious day!

Excuse me, sir, that I salute you from my favourite bard. He that rises with the lark will sing with the lark.-Strange news since I saw you, captain!-Poor mistaken lady !—But you have too much goodness, I know, to reveal to her uncle Harlowe the errors of this capricious beauty. It will all turn out for the best.-You must accompany me part of the way. I know the delight you take in composing differences; but 'tis the task of the prudent to heal the breaches made by the rashness and folly of the imprudent.

AND now, all around me so still and so silent, the rattling of the chariot wheels at a street's distance do I hear;-and to this angel of a woman I fly!

Reward, O God of Love!-the cause is thy

I should have made a most noble prince!-I should have led up a military dance equal to that of the great Macedonian. I should have added kingdom to kingdom, and despoiled all my neighbour sovereigns, in order to have obtained the name of Robert the Great! And I would have gone to war with the Great Turk, and the Persian, and the Mogul, for the seraglios; for not one of those eastern monarchs should have had a pretty woman to bless himself with till I had done with her.

And now I have so much leisure upon my hands, that, after having informed myself of all necessary particulars, I am set to my shorthand writing, in order to keep up with time as well as I can; for the subject is now become worthy of me, and it is yet too soon, I doubt, to pay my compliments to my charmer, after all her fatigues for two or three days past. And, moreover, I have abundance of matters preparative to my future proceedings to recount, in order to connect and render all intelligible.

I parted with the captain at the foot of the hill, trebly instructed; that is to say, as to the fact, to the probable, and to the possible. If my beloved and I can meet, and make up without the mediating of this worthy gentleman, it will

be so much the better. As little foreign aid as possible in my amorous conflicts, has always been a rule with me, though here I have been obliged to call in so much; and who knows but it may be the better for the lady, the less she makes necessary? I cannot bear that she should sit so indifferent to me as to be in earnest to part with me for ever upon so slight, or even upon any, occasion. If I find she is but no more threatenings till she is in my power-thou knowest what I have vowed.

All Will's account, from the lady's flight to his finding her again, all the accounts of the people of the house, the coachman's information to Will, and so forth, collected together, stand thus:

"The Hampstead coach, when the dear fugitive came to it, had but two passengers in it. But she made the fellow go off directly, paying for the vacant places.

"The two passengers directing the coachman to set them down at the Upper-Flask, she bid him set her down there also.

"They_took leave of her, [very respectfully no doubt and she went into the house, and asked if she could not have a dish of tea, and a room to herself for half an hour.

They shewed her up to the very room where I now am. She sat at the very table I now write upon, and I believe the chair I sit in was hers." O Belford! if thou knowest what love is, thou wilt be able to account for these minutia.

"She seemed spiritless and fatigued. The gentlewoman herself chose to attend so genteel and lovely a guest. She asked her if she would have bread and butter with her tea? "No. She could not eat.

66

They had very good biscuits. "As she pleased.

"The gentlewoman stept out for some, and returning on a sudden, she observed the sweet fugitive endeavouring to restrain a violent burst of grief to which she had given way in that little interval.

"However, when the tea came, she made the landlady sit down with her, and asked her abundance of questions about the villages and roads in the neighbourhood.

"The gentlewoman took notice to her that she seemed to be troubled in mind.

"Tender spirits, she replied, could not part with dear friends without concern."

She meant me, no doubt.

"She made no inquiry about a lodging, though, by the sequel, thou❜lt observe that she seemed to intend to go no farther that night than Hampstead. But after she had drank two dishes, and put a biscuit in her pocket, [sweet soul! to serve for her supper, perhaps, she laid down half-a-crown, and refusing change, sighing, took leave, saying she would proceed towards Hendon, the distance to which had been one of her questions.

"They offered to send to know if a Hampstead coach were not to go to Hendon that evening.

"No matter, she said; perhaps she might meet the chariot."

Another of her feints, I suppose; for how, or with whom, could anything of this sort have been concerted since yesterday morning?

"She had, as the people took notice to one another, something so uncommonly noble in her air, and in her person and behaviour, that they were sure she was of quality. And having no servant with her of either sex, her eyes, her fine eyes, the gentlewoman called them, stranger as she was, and a woman! being swelled and red, they were sure there was an elopement in the case, either from parents or guardians, for they supposed her too young, and too maidenly, to be a married lady; and, were she married, no husband would let such a fine young creature be unattended and alone, nor give her cause for so much grief as seemed to be settled in her countenance. Then at times she seemed to be so bewildered, they said, that they were afraid she had it in her head to make away with herself.

"All these things put together, excited their curiosity; and they engaged a peery servant, as they called a footman who was drinking with Kit the hostler, at the tap-house, to watch all her motions. This fellow reported the following particulars, as they were re-reported to me:

"She indeed went towards Hendon, passing by the sign of the Castle on the Heath, then stopping, looked about her, and down into the valley before her. Then turning her face towards London, she seemed, by the motion of her handkerchief to her eyes, to weep; repenting, [who knows? the rash step she had taken, and wishing herself back again."

Better for her if she do, Jack, once more I say!-Woe be to the girl who could think of marrying me, yet be able to run away from me, and renounce me for ever!

"Then, continuing on a few paces, she stopped again; and, as if disliking her road, again seeming to weep, directed her course back towards Hampstead."

I am glad she wept so much, because no heart bursts (be the occasion for the sorrow what it will,) which has that kindly relief. Hence I hardly ever am moved at the sight of these pellucid fugitives in a fine woman. How often, in the past twelve hours, have I wished that I could cry most confoundedly!

"She then saw a coach-and-four driving towards her, empty. She crossed the path she was in, as if to meet it, and seemed to intend to speak to the coachman, had he stopped or spoken first. He as earnestly looked at her,-Every one did so who passed her, (so the man who dogged her was the less suspected.") Happy rogue of a coachman, hadst thou known whose notice thou

didst engage, and whom thou mightest have obliged! It was the divine Clarissa Harlowe at whom thou gazedst!-Mine own Clarissa Harlowe !-But it was well for me that thou wert as undistinguishing as the beasts thou drovest, otherwise, what a wild-goose chace had I been led!

"The lady, as well as the coachman, in short, seemed to want resolution; the horses kept on -[the fellow's head and eyes, no doubt, turned behind him, and the distance soon lengthened beyond recal. With a wistful eye she looked after him, sighed and wept again, as the servant, who then slyly passed her, observed.

"By this time she had reached the houses. She looked up at every one as she passed, now and then breathing upon her bared hand, and applying it to her swelled eyes, to abate the redness, and dry the tears. At last, seeing a bill up for letting lodgings, she walked backwards and forwards half-a-dozen times, as if unable to determine what to do, and then went farther into the town, and there the fellow, being spoken to by one of his familiars, lost her for a few minutes; but he soon saw her come out of a linen-drapery shop, attended with a servantmaid, having, as he believed, bought some little matters, and, as it proved, got that maidservant to go with her to the house she is now at.*

"The fellow, after waiting about an hour, and not seeing her come out, returned, concluding that she had taken lodgings there."

And here, supposing my narrative of the dramatic kind, ends Act the first; and now begins

WILL having got all these particulars by exchanging others as frankly against them, with which I had formerly prepared him, both verbally and in writing-I found the people already of my party, and full of good wishes for my success, repeating to me all they told him.

But he had first acquainted me with the accounts he had given them of his lady and me. It is necessary that I give thee the particulars of this tale, and I have a little time upon my hands; for the maid of the house, who had been out of an errand, tells us; that she saw Mrs Moore with whom must be my first business] go into the house of a young gentleman within a few doors of her, who has a maiden sister, Miss Rawlins by name, so notified for prudence,

that none of her acquaintance undertake anything of consequence without consulting her.

Meanwhile, my honest coachman is walking about Miss Rawlins's door, in order to bring me notice of Mrs Moore's return to her house. I hope her gossip's tale will be as soon told as mine-which take as follows :—

Will told them, before I came, 66 That his lady was but lately married to one of the finest gentlemen in the world; but that he being very gay and lively, she was mortal jealous of him, and in a fit of that sort, had eloped from him. For although she loved him dearly, and he doated upon her, (as well he might, since, as he had seen, she was the finest creature that ever the sun shone upon,) yet she was apt to be very wilful and sullen, if he might take the liberty to say so-but truth was truth; and if she could not have her own way in everything, would be for leaving him. That she had three or four times played his master such tricks; but with all the virtue and innocence in the world, running away to an intimate friend of hers, who, though a young lady of honour, was but too indulgent to her in this only failing, for which reason his master had brought her to London lodgings, their usual residence being in the country; and that, on his refusing to satisfy her about a lady he had been seen with in St James's Park, she had, for the first time since she came to town, served his master thus, whom he had left half-distracted on that account."

And truly well he might, poor gentleman! cried the honest folks, pitying me before they

saw me.

"He told them how he came by his intelligence of her, and made himself such an interest with them, that they helped him to a change of clothes for himself; and the landlord, at his request, privately inquired if the lady actually remained at Mrs Moore's, and for how long she had taken the lodgings? which he found only to be for a week certain; but she had said, that she believed she should hardly stay so long. And then it was that he wrote his letter, and sent it by honest Peter Patrick, as thou hast heard."

When I came, my person and dress having answered Will's description, the people were ready to worship me. I now and then sighed, now and then put on a lighter air, which, however, I designed should shew more of vexation ill-disguised, than of real cheerfulness; and they told Will it was a thousand pities so fine a lady should have such skittish tricks, adding, that she might expose herself to great dangers by them, for that there were rakes everywhere Lovelaces in every corner, Jack many about that town, who would leave no

and

thing unattempted to get into her company, and although they might not prevail upon her, yet might they nevertheless hurt her reputation, and in time estrange the affections of so fine a gentleman from her.

Good sensible people these!-Hey, Jack! Here, landlord, one word with you. My servant, I find, has acquainted you with the reason of my coming this way.-An unhappy affair, landlord!-A very unhappy affair!-But

never was there a more virtuous woman.

So, sir, she seems to be. A thousand pities her ladyship has such ways—and to so goodhumoured a gentleman as you seem to be, sir. Mother-spoilt, landlord!-Mother-spoilt! that's the thing!—But [sighing] I must make the best of it. What I want you to do for me is to lend me a great-coat.-I care not what it is. If my spouse should see me at a distance, she would make it very difficult for me to get at her speech. A great-coat with a cape, if you have one. I must come upon her before she is

aware.

I am afraid, sir, I have none fit for such a gentleman as you.

O, anything will do!-The worse the better.

Exit Landlord.—Re-enter with two great-coats.

Ay, landlord, this will be best; for I can but ton the cape over the lower part of my face.Don't I look devilishly down and concerned, landlord?

I never saw a gentleman with a better-natured look. 'Tis pity you should have such trials, sir.

I must be very unhappy, no doubt of it, landlord. And yet I am a little pleased, you must needs think, that I have found her out before any great inconvenience has arisen to her. How ever, if I cannot break her of these freaks, she'll break my heart, for I do love her with all her failings.

The good woman, who was within hearing of all this, pitied me much.

Pray, your honour, said she, if I may be so bold, was madam ever a mamma?

No-[and I sighed.]-We have been but a little while married; and, as I may say to you, it is her own fault that she is not in that way.[Not a word of a lie in this, Jack.]-But to tell you truth, madam, she may be compared to the dog in the manger.

I understand you, sir, [simpering] she is but young, sir. I have heard of one or two such skittish young ladies in my time, sir. But when madam is in that way, I dare say, as she loves you, (and it would be strange if she did

She is a fine lady, as ever I beheld. I hope, sir, you won't be too severe. She'll get over all these freaks, if once she be a mamma, I warrant.

I can't be severe to her-she knows that. The moment I see her, all resentment is over with me, if she gives me but one kind look.

All this time I was adjusting my horseman's coat, and Will was putting in the ties of my wig, and buttoning the cape over my chin.

I asked the gentlewoman for a little powder. She brought me a powder-box, and I slightly shook the puff over my hat, and flapt one side of it, though the lace looked a little too gay for my covering; and, slouching it over my eyes, Shall I be known, think you, madam?

Your honour is so expert, sir!-I wish, if F may be so bold, your lady has not some cause to be jealous. But it will be impossible, if you keep your laced clothes covered, that anybody should know you in that dress to be the same gentleman-except they find you out by your clocked stockings.

Well observed-Can't you, landlord, lend or sell me a pair of stockings that will draw over these? I can cut off the feet, if they wont go into my shoes.

He could let me have a pair of coarse, but clean, stirrup stockings, if I pleased.

The best in the world for the purpose. He fetched them; Will drew them on, and my legs then made a good gouty appearance.

The good woman, smiling, wished me suc cess, and so did the landlord. And as thou knowest that I am not a bad mimic, I took a cane which I borrowed of the landlord, and stooped in the shoulders to a quarter of a foot of less height, and stumped away 'cross to the bowling-green, to practise a little the hobbling gait of a gouty man. The landlady whispered her husband, as Will tells me, He's a good one, I warrant him—I dare say the fault lies not at all of one side. While mine host replied, That I was so lively and so good-natured a gentleman, that he did not know who could be angry with me, do what I would. A sensible fellow! -I wish my charmer were of the same opinion.

And now I am going to try if I can't agree with Goody Moore for lodgings and other conveniencies for my sick wife.

Wife, Lovelace? methinks thou interrogatest. Yes, wife, for who knows what cautions the dear fugitive may have given in apprehension of me? But has Goody Moore any other lodgings to

let?

Yes, yes; I have taken care of that, and find

that she has just such conveniencies as I want; and I know that my wife will like them. For, although married. I can do everything I please, and that's a bold word, you know. But, had she only a garret to let, I would have liked it, and been a poor author afraid of arrests, and made that my place of refuge, yet would have made shift to pay beforehand for what I had. I can suit myself to any condition, that's my comfort.

THE widow Moore returned! say you?Down, down, flutterer!-This impertinent heart is more troublesome to me than my conscience, I think. I shall be obliged to hoarsen my voice, and roughen my character, to keep up with its puppily dancings.

But let me see, shall I be angry or pleased when I am admitted to my beloved's presence? Angry to be sure. Has she not broken her word with me ?-At a time too when I was meditating to do her grateful justice?—And is not breach of word a dreadful crime in good folks? -I have ever been for forming my judgment of the nature of things and actions, not so much from what they are in themselves, as from the character of the actors. Thus it would be as odd a thing in such as we to keep our words with a woman, as it would be wicked in her to break hers to us.

Seest thou not that this unseasonable gravity is admitted to quell the palpitations of this unmanageable heart? But still it will go on with its boundings. I'll try as I ride in my chariot to tranquillize.

Ride, Bob! so little a way?

Yes, ride, Jack; for am I not lame? And will it not look well to have a lodger who keeps his chariot? What widow, what servant, asks questions of a man with an equipage ?

My coachman, as well as my other servant, is under Will's tuition.

Never was there such a hideous rascal as he has made himself. The devil only and his other master can know him. They both have set their marks upon him. As to my honour's mark, it will never be out of his dam'd wide mothe, as he calls it. For the dog will be hanged before he can lose the rest of his teeth by age.

I am gone.

LETTER CXL.

MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

Hampstead, Friday Night, June 9. Now, Belford, for the narrative of narratives. I will continue it as I have opportunity, and that so dexterously, that if I break off twenty times, thou shalt not discern where I piece my thread.

Although grievously afflicted with the gout, I alighted out of my chariot (leaning very hard on my cane with one hand, and on my new servant's shoulder with the other) the same instant almost that he had knocked at the door, that I might be sure of admission into the house.

I took care to button my great-coat about me, and to cover with it even the pommel of my sword, it being a little too gay for my years. I knew not what occasion I might have for my sword. I stooped forward, blinked with my eyes to conceal their lustre, [no vanity in saying that, Jack; my chin wrapt up for the tooth-ache, my slouched laced hat, and so much of my wig as was visible, giving me, altogether, the appearance of an antiquated beau My wife, I resolved beforehand, should have complication of disorders.

a

The maid came to the door. I asked for her mistress. She shewed me into one of the parlours, and I sat down with a gouty, Oh

Enter Goody Moore.

YOUR servant, madam-but you must excuse me, I cannot well stand. I find by the bill at the door that you have lodgings to let [mumb ling my words as if, like my man Will, I had lost some of my fore-teeth; be pleased to inform me what they are; for I like your situation-and I will tell you my family. I have a wife, a good old woman-older than myself, by the way, a pretty deal. She is in a bad state of health, and is advised into the Hampstead air. She will have two maid-servants and a footman. The coach or chariot (I shall not have them up both together) we can put up anywhere, and the coachman will be with his horses.

When, sir, shall you want to come in?

I will take them from this very day, and, if convenient, will bring my wife in the afternoon. Perhaps, sir, you would board, as well as lodge?

That as you please. It will save me the trouble of bringing my cook, if we do. And I suppose you have servants who know how to dress a couple of dishes. My wife must eat plain food, and I don't love kick-shaws.

We have a single lady, who will be gone in two or three days. She has one of the best apartments; that will then be at liberty.

You have one or two good ones, meantime, I presume, madam, just to receive my wife; for we have lost time-these damned physiciansexcuse me, madam, I am not used to curse, but it is owing to the love I have for my wife-they have kept her in hand till they are ashamed to take more fees, and now advise her to the air. I wish we had sent her hither at first. But we must now make the best of it.

Excuse me, madam, [for she looked hard at me, that I am muffled up in this warm wea